Getting sweaty at Pitti (Uomo)

There’s an unnerving moment when you cross from darkness into light, when the world turns its gaze towards you, and there’s nowhere left to hide…

Heron’s Ghyll stepped into that light at the 104th edition of Pitti Uomo in June 2023—an unfamiliar glow, both harsh and inviting. For years, the brand had moved quietly in the shadows, constructing itself in solitude, away from the noise. But standing among giants, the air felt different. The weight of expectation pressed down, yet there was no turning back. This was the big leap—the moment that defines everything. Each stitch, each poorly sewn button (dammit Niki!), now visible, laid bare for all to see…

A knot of existential dread settled in my stomach in the days leading up to the fair, one I couldn’t shake. The desire to withdraw flickered in my thoughts, though the deeply rooted pragmatism of my upbringing could not abide forfeiting the deposit. Defeat I could live with—wasting money, not so much.

Perhaps this unease stemmed from an inherent distaste for the transactional nature of selling—something I regard as a vulgar ritual in the temple of capitalism. Naturally, our clothes are exceptional; I know this because I make them. And yet, I find myself constantly bewildered by the fact that our website hasn’t buckled under the weight of customers eager to get their hands on a Heron’s Ghyll suit. I had assumed that quality spoke for itself, that great design required no fanfare. It seemed, however, that the world occasionally needed a gentle nudge...

I tried to imagine what it might be like at the fair, and the images that flashed through my mind were of overly zealous supermarket vendors foisting samples on unsuspecting weekend shoppers, and of charity volunteers on Upper Street, desperately imploring passersby to stop and listen. A pang of sympathy struck me—for them, for us. We were all in the business of seeking eye contact with those intent on avoiding us.

After months of existential angst, the day arrived, and we found ourselves in Florence on the eve of the show. While others arrived with poise, we... dragged our luggage over the cobblestones like cattle farmers wrangling a stubborn herd, grunting and heaving as the wheels of our suitcases caught on every groove. The sun, unsparing, only intensified the struggle. By the time we reached the entrance of the Fortezza da Basso, any hope of looking composed had long since evaporated.

The scene outside the Fortezza on the day we arrived was a chaotic symphony of trucks honking, men barking orders, and a sea of lanyard-clad fashion insiders marching with enviable purpose, their heels click-clacking in a sharp staccato against the pavement. Meanwhile, I was a flustered mess, very nearly tripping over my own feet as a van from a Very Important Brand sped past, mocking me with its effortless efficiency.

I chanced upon a candid shot of myself in the background of someone's street style photo—sweat stains visible, hair resembling the aftermath of a minor crisis. I believe they call it sprezzatura...

There’s something about menswear's biggest stage that can make you feel small, and not in an existential sense. It’s tangible. Starting a brand in lockdown had shielded us from the harsh realities of the industry—there were no crowds, no packed schedules, no endless rooms filled with people who had “seen it all.” It was just us and our ideas. But now, at Pitti, I felt every inch of the divide between where we stood in the Sala delle Nazioni (a.k.a. the tundra) and where the heavyweights operated in the Padiglione Centrale. The critical inner voice whispered: You’re out of your depth, homie.

But here’s the thing about standing in the light: it’s harsh, yes, but it’s also where you’re truly seen. It forces you to show up, to hold your ground. So, we did what we always do when uncertainty strikes—we kept moving forward, hoping the pieces we’d poured everything into would speak louder than our nerves.

T-1: Freshly set up and on the hunt for garment steamers.

The fair itself passed in a surreal haze. Booths were polished to perfection, brands looked as if they’d been there for centuries, and yet… somewhere amidst all of it, we found our footing. Each time someone stopped by to see our collection, the imposter syndrome faded a little. There’s something about explaining the story behind a garment you’ve obsessed over for years that pulls you back to center.

There were a few moments that stood out, reminding us we weren’t alone in this wilderness. Meeting other independent, founder-led brands like Gusari, LESSLESS, Maison Audmi, and ROVI Lucca was one of them. There’s something about entrepreneurship that can feel like walking through fog—no clear markers, no guideposts. But here were people navigating the same uncertainties, facing the same doubts. And for the first time, I realized there’s a kind of strength in knowing others are on the same road.

And then, on Day 1, we had our own brush with legend. There he was, strolling past our booth: silver hair impeccably slicked, tortoiseshell glasses resting with effortless grace, wearing a trachten jacket that looked positively regal. Ned and I exchanged a glance that said, who is this man? Later, we discovered his name: Bernhard Roetzel. Yes, that Bernhard Roetzel. Author of Gentleman: A Timeless Fashion. He stopped by, we chatted, and then something unexpected happened—he endorsed us and made introductions that we hadn’t dared hope for. Later, he even featured us on his blog, turning what felt like an offhand encounter into something that would carry far beyond the booth. It wasn’t just validation; it was a reminder that sometimes, you’re seen by the right people when you least expect it.

The moments of doubt still lingered throughout the fair, as they always do, but they were quieter now. Less insistent. Each day at Pitti was a mix of exhilaration and exhaustion—meeting people who had built empires and those, like us, who were just beginning to lay the foundations.

By the end of it, we hadn’t conquered the industry, but we had allowed ourselves to be seen. That was enough.